


Storm and Memory

by hammernikita



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammernikita/pseuds/hammernikita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Memory is a fragile thing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm and Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neverwhyonlywho@tumblr.com](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=neverwhyonlywho%40tumblr.com).



There was a thunderstorm that night, with the roads as treacherous as she’d ever seen them. He had insisted upon driving himself home, even though he had a terrible time paying any sort of attention to traffic in the clearest of conditions. Or, with the clearest mind- which his day of losing such a patient certainly hadn’t given him.

The accident was simple and profound; a driver crossing an unseen line, and an impact that altered worlds.

They’d called it post-traumatic amnesia; pieces of his life were there, just as they’d always been. But even some things he’d remembered felt alien; his own given name sounded so foreign to him that he refused to use it. Through some dark twist of neurology he knew that he was a doctor, although of what he couldn’t recall- he’d insisted on being addressed as such because it felt most comfortable to him.

_Post-traumatic amnesia- caused by a harsh impact to the head… but that’s not all it is_ , River thought, as she sat just outside his hospital room. She’d learned from his cohorts at the hospital that he’d left in a mood over the death of a patient that evening, although, of course, no one could tell her much about it. The death grieved him to distraction- that much she could guess… but even in the face of their own tragedy, she certainly couldn’t push for more.

He had finally awakened from hours of surgery, and two days of unconscious recovery. She’d let the nurses do their job, and hadn’t pounced as soon as she saw his eyes open… _Post-traumatic, yes… but dissociative, as well…?_ But when his gaze finally fell upon her by his bedside, there was no light in his eyes upon meeting hers. A nurse was present to offer help, and began to speak to him of his wife who’d been there all along, waiting for him to come back to her. He’d listened for a moment, but then began to shake- almost a near-seizure panic overtaking him, just as the nurse had finished her words of encouragement.

_His… wife?_ It was as though the memory of her, in the act of resurfacing, threatened to breech some protective wall thrown up by his damaged brain. River was stunned.

When it happened once more early the next morning, the medical staff noted that he hadn’t reacted to the _sight_ of her, and only seemed to become somewhat distant at the mention of her name. But he did react, powerfully and violently, when anyone tried to speak _of_ her. It made no sense, but there was no point in pushing him further.

He didn’t recognize her when she was there before him, and it was clear that his mind could not even cope with the attempt to do so. Her presence had been swiftly explained as just another doctor who’d been part of his recovery process- a clever idea, but one that had crushed her.

River witnessed this- the man she loved regaining consciousness from an act that nearly killed him, but with his mind inexplicably thrashing with the force and weight of the very idea of her. She found herself assaulted by different, but intertwined, knowledge… terror and agony and grief, all bound together into a single, chilling fact:

_He does not know who I am_.

……………………………………………….

 

Professor River Song was a psychotherapist, although it had been years since she’d worked directly with a patient. To others, she had drifted into teaching naturally, but she knew it had been time spent with Evangelista- a particularly difficult patient- that had pushed her to explore a different path. Her careful nurturing, along with a bold and irreverent sense of leadership, made her the professor she now was. And her students, no matter how challenged or challenging, never quite made the sort of impact to break her heart.

Despite all that time away, she didn’t consider herself rusty when it came to counselling patients- although she knew she’d feel differently with this one. Possibly terribly inadequate, and almost certainly desperate with the desire to help. Not to mention unethical, maybe even immoral… but she’d force herself to accept any consequences, as long as they were hers alone. Because of his reactions, it was determined, by both River and his other doctors that it would be best- at least for now- to not mention that he’d had that life at all. If she could begin with that night, and gently work their way back, perhaps he could accept his marriage as a part of existence- and then, eventually, the woman with whom he shared it.

And perhaps, this foolishness could end up destroying them both… but her fierce protectiveness led her to take the steps she’d need to treat him herself. It hardly mattered to her if she’d lost her license, or ability to teach, if she’d lost him. In this, she trusted no one else.

It hurt terribly that he could not remember her, or any part of their life together, but she was determined to be the one to help him crack this memory free. It occurred to her briefly to ask once again about the patient who’d died; she’d been a young woman who’d apparently overdosed on sleeping pills. But even this was too much for River to have been told, she knew… that, and the fact that it had been her second attempt at such an end. The woman’s story had touched him once, and then clearly devastated him when it had ended with such cruel finality.

His grief had pushed him behind a wheel that he ordinarily disdained so much that he’d “rather walk” if she insisted he do the driving, and only he would ever know what had been going through his mind that night, at the moment of the crash.

She had to do what she could for him, and- she admitted shakily to herself- her own survival.

……………………………………….

 

The therapy sessions began after his body had healed, and weeks after she had spent days in their house removing all that he might find to think of her. _How do people separate themselves, how do they pull themselves apart this way_? she’d thought, as she’d packed up pictures and clothing, and all the random pieces of their history. He’d returned to this house upon his release, and keeping it sterile- in the only way that made sense to her- was necessary to help him recover. She’d felt this in her bones and her soul, even as it had torn her wide open to do it.

 

**_Session 1_ **

 

While she’d waited, she’d picked up the case journal that she would be using specifically for their sessions: a blue, leather-bound book with thick, deckled pages whose covers looked almost enough like the coffered patterns of her husband’s old front door that his foolishly-sentimental self thought that she’d appreciate it. She did, of course.

She began to write:

_Memory of his wife and all that was related to her has also been swept from his memory; when the hospital team brought up the subject of her, the patient would panic, and enter almost a fugue state. He simply cannot talk about having a wife, or that part of their lives, at this point in his recovery. He does not react to the sight of her, for whatever reasons his mind have designed, and does not seem to recognize her name- although he does seem momentarily confused when the name is mentioned. At hospital, her name was explained as that of a therapist called in to consult on his case._

_Consulting,_ she thought wryly, shaking her head… and that might be the only way he’d possibly be able to remember her. She breathed in deeply and tried to focus, in the way she’d used to do when preparing for a patient. _That won’t be enough this time_ , she despaired, but meant to remain as true to her process as she could. There was only so much she could expect of herself at that moment, but her heart raced regardless.

He arrived on time, as was his custom when he was to meet her anywhere. She knew it meant nothing at this stage, but it was a comfort nonetheless as she watched him ascend the steps to her office through the window. He knocked twice on the door, and she hesitated for the slightest moment before opening it to face him. _He will_ not _see me hurt_.

“Oh! Hello, again.” She knew she’d startled slightly at that, as he quickly followed with, “you were on the team that treated me… at the very beginning.”

“Ah… yes! Yes, I was indeed there, at that time.” She smiled. “You seem to have made a remarkable recovery.” He nodded his agreement silently; something in his downcast features said otherwise, along with his unconscious sweeping gesture over his head- his hair, still a bit unruly, but so much shorter after the surgery. She indicated an overstuffed chair by the window for him to have a seat. He explained as he did so that she’d been recommended to him- a member of his treatment team suggested that she’d be someone who could be particularly helpful for the work he’d need to do. She felt awash with gratitude; this had all been carefully constructed by a former colleague who knew her well- enough to grasp her depth of pain, and the lengths to which she’d go in bringing her love back home to her.

“Well, now that you’re here, why don’t we begin by your telling me how I may be able to help you?”

He looked down and away, grinding his teeth as he did when he was disgusted by someone’s behavior, including, at times, his own. “The accident… it took a chunk of my life away. I want- I _need_ \- that chunk back, as it doesn’t do at all for these holes to be present in my mind… does that make sense?” She nodded in response, and he went on.  “I know that this kind of memory loss isn’t generally something that’s treated, per se… but this somehow… feels… the right thing to do.” he said, then rolled his eyes, and closed them. “Oh, and, this thing about the thunder…” he broke off, as though hearing something far in the distance that was his to bear alone. He shook himself and continued, “I live in fear for my life of it now… it’s absurd to even consider it, but,” he steeled himself to meet her eyes, “I’m… afraid. When the storms are happening. And that needs to stop.”

The fear that crept into his eyes as he’d explained this to her was heart-wrenching, but her face only showed the concern of her profession. _Three months have passed since that night of the accident; his injuries had healed in the most basic physical sense. The patient, however, has found that he still can recall nothing of what had happened the night. This is a common enough phenomenon for someone who’d suffered his degree of concussion_.  What alarmed him was that for whatever reason, a sweeping chunk of his life leading up to that evening had also gone missing; that, and his new and volatile fear of thunder. And, although this frightened River, she found that it saddened her more; so much heartache for the man she loved that she couldn’t acknowledge.

_He claims that the thunder is his initial concern, as he lives in a climate where such storms were common, and he cannot abide his own discomfort that borders on terror at times._

_The patient had been highly agitated upon leaving his place of work, and most likely that agitation added to the scenario- despite the other driver clearly being at fault. Being a medical doctor, he’d lost patients from time to time, but his coworkers felt that he’d been unusually affected- and in this case, he does not remember anything of that patient, or his/her case. Can this be the connection- that grief, and the thunder?_   _But is he terrified of the thunder because it was tied to the accident’s trauma, or because it’s tied to something that he cannot recall at all?_

These questions would keep her awake for months, struggling with an explanation for the entanglement of his thoughts. Was there something about that night- an occurrence or a thought process that happened alongside, or perhaps, led to the accident itself- that shattered his connection to her? And if so, what could that have been?

Why had the loss of that patient struck him so?

………………………………………………

 

**_Session 4_ **

_The patient is continuing to suffer from intense, emotional dreams. Over these past two sessions, he had described them as “disturbing”- both in their general feeling and mood, and the suggestiveness of aspects of his life that he cannot consciously hold onto. Sometimes, what seem to be identical dreams recurred off and on over the course of several days; this strengthened his conviction of them being memories that he simply hadn’t unearthed yet._

****

He’d been doing well on his own, although he was plagued fairly often with deep and murky dreams- they’d begun somewhere between their second and third sessions together. They varied wildly… some were empty and seemingly meaningless, some resonated with him when he awakened, with detail that he was sure he just hadn’t remembered yet from his waking life. But, all had begun to feel like memory much more than they felt like dream. River found that she was intrigued, despite herself.  “…Dreaming about… Was _that_ her name?” He almost whispered, and stared off for a while, thinking.

“It’s so dark in this place- where the shadows seem to follow us. In some of these… rooms? Chambers? I don’t quite know… It’s as though the shadows are alive, and trying to consume her- consume both of us. I can’t even tell if I am somewhere in particular, or if the shadows themselves _are_ where I am… “The only thing that’s clear- the one consistent thing in all of them- is that she’s lost, and hurting… and I can’t find her quickly enough, before the lightning strikes- and the thunder rattles me awake.” He wrapped his arms around himself, against the chill of memory.  

River frowned as she listened. Who was ‘she’? It surprised her how sharply her heart lurched, even for a moment, when he’d said that. “So… when you hear that thunder- can you describe how it’s frightening for you? Is it something else you see or feel while you hear it? Does it mean something to you?”

He nodded, eyes downcast. “That has occurred to me, yes. The thunder doesn’t feel like a physical terror.” She sensed that time was needed here, and waited. When he looked up, his eyes were mournful. “It feels like a soul breaking.”

Although this was the answer she was seeking, her heart couldn’t help but sink a little to hear it. Not wanting him too deeply entrenched in that space just then, she took a different path. “You’d said “she”. Do you remember who this is, in the dream?”His eyes were still sad, but shined slightly as he considered the surreal memory. “I really don’t know.” He closed his eyes, thinking. “Long, dark hair… She’s beautiful, but confused and… lonely? I think she’s terribly lonely.” River was somewhat puzzled; she couldn’t imagine who this might be, or mean to him.

“And she’s gone off on her own- she does this, over and over again… I cannot get to where she’s gotten herself to, so far down… and so far away,” He shook his head slowly.

“It’s just… so terribly dark through most of them… There’s always the sense that I have a purpose- a valiant purpose, and that keeps me moving onwards, although…” His eyes darkened, and she could see him struggle for clarity. “I find that when it matters most- when it feels that lives hang the most critically in the balance- I don’t know what to do. It’s… complicated, I suppose.”

Although she hadn’t intended to, River had apparently given him something of a look at that last sentence; his eyes snapped back from their darkness, slightly startled. “I’m sorry… this is… I’m being absurdly difficult, aren’t I? That is absolutely not my intention-“ She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No, no, Doctor- my apologies. I hadn’t meant to imply any sort of difficulty,” she said, wondering what her face had betrayed just then. His smile was almost shy, although wry in a way that showed he didn’t quite believe her- but was grateful for her kindness, regardless.

He closed his eyes, and tried again. “I know that I am struggling with something that I know is dangerous, but it’s imperative that I keep going. It’s a darkness that consumes, but so unclearly, and so- how can I possibly defend myself, or anyone else, from it?” He went on, speaking of somewhere else that was just out of awakening’s focus, and… grief? A deep, wailing ache (his words), whose significance he could not guess. All he knew was that once he fully awakened- with the residual sound of thunder echoing in his mind’s ear- it was with a dreadful flash of emptiness, and always, guilt. 

 

River often thought about that guilt, wondering if he, on some level, was grieving his loss of her. And that was certainly possible, but then there was the woman in his dreams… she was clearly suffering as well. Was he subconsciously trapped in a cycle of pain for the patient who’d died? Or was she a simply a metaphor of his mind’s damaged pathways? In either case, it became apparent that things were beginning to change- just faintly for the better- as their time together went on. He still had no linear recall, but there were things that hadn’t meant anything to him previously that had begun to burst forth. The dreams were increasing in intensity, but they’d also been tossing tiny gems- almost insignificant images during their course- but brilliant in their triggering once he went about his days.

She knew that she couldn’t push these moments with him, as her patient, so she had to content herself with holding him close to her inside, and each memory unlocked tightened her grip just that much more.

 

………………………………………………………………………….

 

**_Session 7:_ **

_We’ve been discussing more of what’s occurring in his waking life than the dreams, although this might be because he’s remembered something that, at this stage, he still does not feel comfortable disclosing. Part of what he observes in day to day life is an upswing of recognition of things that are relevant to his life before the accident- although he does not always recognize them as such…_

_In some cases, he is showing marked reactions to specific objects and words, although, to him, their context isn’t obvious as expected: parking brakes?_ She smiled to herself as she thought of their spirited bickerings, and ability to argue over the simplest things for no other reason than perhaps the joy of hearing the other’s voice, impassioned by the emotion of the moment.

Their past few sessions, although almost entirely focused upon his now-constant dreaming, had often wandered off onto tangents that were undoubtedly- at least, to River- signs of his memories struggling for air, close to the surface. The steadily increasing rain, now that the autumn was in full swing, only exacerbated both dream and memory alike.

“How are you feeling this evening?” It always seemed like the easiest question in the world to begin the session with, and it was, ultimately, the only question that mattered. She was used to, by now, his attempts to sound fine, to actually be the collected and measured mind that he claimed he was. Not that he was ever truly “collected”- his behavior had always been mercurial at best, and somewhat psychopathic at its worst… which, of course, was what had drawn her to him so long ago.

“I… oh… it’s rubbish… that’s what it is…” he blurted out, not meeting her eyes. “What’s rubbish? What’s going on for you right now?” Her voice was gentle; her soul screamed to hold him, to do something, anything, other than just talk. “I’ve been… seeing things lately. Hard to explain.” He closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head slightly. She waited, and then asked, when he seemed to need prompting, “Can you try? I’ve heard quite a lot in my day, you know.” She smiled a little as she said it, knowing that their growing familiarity could mean something, but may simply be an effect of nearly three months of sessions. She had to continue to subdue herself and her responses; his mind in its fragile space would be the price paid for even the faintest slip of diligence.

His eyes were still closed as he searched his thoughts. “But is it really ‘seeing things’? I mean, these are not figments of my imagination, surely… they’re scraps of what’s locked away. Does that make sense?”

“Completely. And you’re probably right.” He nodded a little, and took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. “Alright then. The dreams… they’re absolutely following me now, into waking life.” She felt herself stiffen slightly at this; as before at other sessions, she was both thrilled- and afraid- for him, at these revelations. “As I’d told you, in some of them I’ve started to catch images, places, or sometimes even words … They’d not even really been attached to what’s happening when I had seen them, but now. they’re here- explosively so- when I’m awake. Sometimes just for an instant. The difference now is that, even in the dreams, I find myself caught up, starting, at something that some hidden bit of me understands… I’ve been writing them down, now, in case they’re important.” He pulled a small, dusty-covered notebook from one of his numerous pockets. “Aside from the parking brakes… and the Moai, off in the distance- in the dream, of course, not just looming in the distance on my own street…”

_There is definitely a new level of recognition when it comes to events that we have in_ _common,_ she’d written during their fifth session, although those events- when he remembered them- were nearly stripped her color and impact on them, in much the same way as their shared home. Asgard… what was that? A flash in one dream- of him, or someone else- in a green, rock-strewn landscape, casually glimpsed then, almost an afterthought… had brought him to a halt earlier that day, nearly frozen in place as the memory of that scene lurched forward. Just the recounting of the experience stilled him, then, the faraway look slipping back into his gaze.

“What can you tell me about it? Anything- specific or vague, it doesn’t matter.” She leaned forward a little, trying to appear merely eager- and not hanging on a thread of hope as she truly was.

“I’m not sure… A picnic somewhere?” He shook his head slightly while he consulted his own notebook. “I mean, was I alone in some stunning place, drinking champagne and toasting the various constellations? Of course, I’d do such a thing- but alone? Seems a bit mad to go to such lengths when it’s simply- what?”

She smiled, her eyes shining, and stifled laughter that in other circumstances- at a different time of life- would have gotten her into a touch of trouble with her husband. For such an eccentric being, he certainly bristled when he felt she wasn’t taking him seriously.

“Oh, I’m… I’m sorry. Really. It’s just that sometimes…” she paused, smiling gently, “You are… You just have such a way about you when you’re… a bit frazzled. It’s a delight to see.” She cleared her throat and composed herself. “And it seems that there’s more to these images than just possible memories- they don’t appear to cause you pain… In fact, they appear to lift your spirits a bit while you’re speaking of them. They’re confusing for you, yes, but they’re also giving you something of a lovely glow.” He listened, but continued to stare at her, an endearingly puzzled look upon his face.

“Professor Song… are you flirting with me? And if you are, should I find that offensive? Because I don’t, really… I imagine I should, considering the whole patient-doctor relationship concept and its general prohibitions- why are you looking at me like that?”

She had no idea of how she was looking just then… and, of course, she knew that flirting with him might not be the best idea. Unprofessional for her to engage in such banter with a patient, after all. But with this patient… sometimes… she saw that it triggered something in him, something that she could see on his face, in his eyes- a reaching for something just out of focus. And so she smiled, a deep and genuine smile that she hadn’t worn for some time now. “You are remembering, Doctor. Little by little, there are details that are sometimes, slowly- and sometimes, frighteningly quickly- coming back to you.” He’d lowered his head for a moment while she’d spoken, but brought it up abruptly as she finished. His eyes were almost wary, enough for her smile to fade. “What if… just, what if… these memories were lost for a reason? Will I regain them, and wish that I hadn’t?” He shook his head, and looked away. ‘No. I’m sorry- it was ridiculous to even think such a thing. My mind was cracked into several pieces, and we are on the road to sealing up those cracks… Forget I’d said such a thing.”

She nodded, and a fainter version of her former smile returned. “It makes me happy that we are seeing progress, but I am also here to catch you if you fall. I won’t let happen, Doctor.”

His eyes met hers then, showing a touch of defiance- and no small amount of fear. “And, with any luck at all, we will recover what you’ve lost, and even if it hurts you- even if that happens, I will be here. And I will not go anywhere until we will brought you ‘round to where you need to be.”

_Where I, so very desperately, need you to be._

And through it all, it continued to rain.

 

………………………………………………..

 

She hadn’t been scheduled to see him for another three days, but she’d given him her number in the event of an emergency- hard enough, considering that she’d been the one who’d removed it from his phone in the first place. Still, she was somewhat startled when the phone began to chime with his call. In all of time of sessions together, he’d never taken advantage of that number before.

“This is Dr. Song,” she began, but heard only silence on the line. “Is that you, Doctor?” She heard him inhale then, a sharp intake of breath, before he spoke. “Yes… yes, it’s me. I think the memories and the dreams have done their work, or at the very least broken down some walls that I’d so carefully constructed… I’ve done something cowardly, Dr. Song. Even though I’d done so unwillingly… I find that I can’t begin to forgive myself for my actions.” He paused, and then added quietly, “I sincerely hope that you can.”

 

…………………………………………………….

 

**_Session 11_ **

She wondered if there really were more storms than normal for the season, or if she was simply noticing their frequency for the first time. Because it had never mattered before… and because her patient was running very late this time around. It had been nearly seven months since the accident, and his although memories had begun to return to him, up until now they had been in the form of the lightest, often trivial, things. There was deep grief as well, they were both certain, but until those final shrouds could be torn away…  What had happened to cause the breakthrough to trigger that phone call? He’d seemed on the verge of remembering over the course of their past three sessions, but she hadn’t wanted to tap into that grief too soon for his mind to bear it. _Thunderstorms continue to unnerve him,_ she wrote, and he still claimed to remember few details of that night. Or, perhaps, _he cannot bring himself to speak of those details_ _,_ as she saw the distance in his eyes- the on and off-ness of his thoughts struggling when he spoke of it.

The rain had been crashing down continuously for more than a few hours by the time he had arrived, and although his face was calm, she saw that his hands shook slightly as he hung his long, heavy coat on the coatrack.

“How are you, Doctor?” His call had genuinely frightened her; his words had been vague in meaning, but his anguish had been clear. She couldn’t imagine what he might say or do when he’d finally arrived. He was greatly agitated, in a way that she hadn’t seen before now… almost the way he’d been fresh from his long hospital stay, when his body had mended extraordinarily well- but his mind lay flayed and pitted. This evening, he looked harried when he’d arrived, and jumped in a plainly scared way when she gently touched his shoulder.

Then he’d finally turned to face her, and River could not stop herself from bringing up her hands to her mouth. He was afraid, but somehow- and she could not explain this even to herself- he was afraid for _her_. And angry, although that seemed only meant for himself.

“I… I don’t know yet. I just… I really don’t know. It’s the storm, you see. Its intensity-“ He broke off, eyes shut tightly as lightning glazed the window, and the room’s occupants, with its cold flash. “It’s caused me to remember things- some very particular things, from that night. And… quite a bit, from before.”  

She steeled herself, and nodded silently for him to continue. _You are coming back to me_ , she thought… _I can see it, but I can’t push you… oh, my love, how I want to drag you out of this and bring you home._

“I know where I was, that night, as I was driving… In my head, I mean- what I’d been thinking- before it happened. The dreams I’ve been having- they’re echoes of the dream I’d had, the night before she’d died. In real life. It was all about her, and what she’d finally do to herself, in taking her own life. I must have been thinking about what you’d said long ago about her, how you felt her life would turn for the worse.” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he spoke, low and full of anguish. “I had that dream, the night before she was admitted. I know,” He held his hand out, to stop her from interjecting, “I know it wasn’t literal, but I’d also known what she’d meant to you. How broken you’d seen her to be, and how you were broken by not being able to help her.”

River’s jaw dropped, her voice frozen in her throat. This, of all things, was not what she’d expected. She knew, suddenly, who that patient he’d lost must have been. Evangelista, the damaged girl who had dragged River down with her, and kept her there, long after she’d disappeared from her life.

“Doctor,” she said, and then halted as her mind reeled- full of so many questions: _how did you know who she was… did she say anything about the time she’d spent with me?_

‘When I first saw her in the hospital bed, she’d said to me, ‘please, don’t tell her… she probably already thinks I’m long dead’... But in that first dream, and in every one since, I saw how it would happen, that the darkness would swallow her… and there was nothing in the universe I could’ve done to stop it. I just… she had taken too many, then… I couldn’t prevent it.” He stopped and shook his head sharply, as if to clear it, and stared hard into the space before him.  

“I couldn’t save her.”

 She saw him suddenly break from the stare, meeting her eyes with a haunted force she’d never seen before. And it was nearly enough for her heart to stop, because, for the first time in what felt like years, he was seeing _her_.

“She… She was so, so important to you- it changed the course of your life, losing her… And then- then I had the same chance- but she was too far gone when they’d brought her in, and I failed her. And, in doing so… Oh… I’m so sorry, River… I’d failed you, too.”

She could not lose him now, despite his recognition. This reaching out was only one step towards the light; she needed to soothe his path onward, toward her. Her own heart’s reaction would have to wait.

“Oh, love… No matter how your mind created this- the storm and the dreams, and Evangelista dying being one reality, she’d been suffering for a very long time- and given up on living ages ago. And there was nothing you could’ve done to change that. You are here now, and you are safe.” But she knew this would never be entirely true, as she saw the thunder for what it was: a terrifying mask for an agonizing hurt.

The genuine reason for burying the memories was not to protect his own mind from a sorrowful truth; it was to protect hers. He resisted, rocking back and forth… holding his head in his hands, his eyes filling up as repressed horrors poured forth.

“No… it’s… it’s that I...” The thunder was a steady rumble, the storm hammered above and inside their heads. His hands shook, but she didn’t need them to see his torment this time.

_Is this happening… is this really happening?_ Her eyes were pleading, and she no longer tried not to show how that moment felt, how much she needed his acceptance, his embracing of all that she was.

“I couldn’t save Evangelista… in real life, and then, in the dreams after the accident… whenever I’d thought I’d finally gotten through the dark to where she’d been all that time…

“But…last night’s dream- it was different. I’d gone through the shadows again, and almost felt that this time, I’d find her before…” He stopped abruptly, his face lowered. “I saw her for just a moment, and this time, when she looked at me, it… she was you. It was you, lost in that darkness.”

He was shaking more now, with memory crashing through like lightning, and the desperate need to tell his wife of that loss, of the one gift that he’d never be able to give her.

“I… I couldn’t save you.”

His eyes were heavy and bright, and wet with the weight of emotion and knowledge, and always, pain. This was the connection, she saw- Evangelista, the young woman she’d failed, who indeed changed the course of River’s history, and then, so much more tragically, that of the one she loved. She couldn’t hide her wide eyes that were tearing up slightly, quietly, as she watched him stand, and cross the space between them. She held his eyes, despite the tears, and her tongue, because she knew how fragile they both had become. He opened his mouth, then closed it, searching in a space before him that she could not see for anything that might help her forgive him for abandoning her.  “Words… they’ve never been a problem of mine, but for the first time in what’s often felt like too long of a life, I don’t know what to say.” He slowly crouched before her, both their tears flowing now, and placed a hand over hers. With the other, he cautiously traced the dampness on her face.

_“_ How _could_ I have... I am so, so sorry…” She placed a finger to his lips then, and smiled through her tears. “I don’t need to forgive you for hurting _for_ me,” she whispered. And she knew there would never be enough words, of any sort, to allow him to forgive himself. “You forgot me to keep me safe, my love.”

She stood suddenly, and drew him up to her. Holding him as close as she dared, she could feel him cry with the quiet sound of someone who truly believes that the one holding him knows him; someone who accepts his grief, and the places from where it comes- and is there to help him anyway. She wept along with him for the agony they'd endured together, and for the one he could not save whose distant pain had broken them both.

It felt like years before she pulled away. “Come, then, sweetie. It’s finally time for us to go home.”

 


End file.
